Warp World

by Kristene Perron

  “Get back here,” he called. “It’s too dangerous to—”

  A flash. Not a glint, but a flash. In the distance, dull metal, caught by the anemic rays of the sun. Seg’s mind processed the clue in a fraction of a second, but by then he could already see the barrel of the concealed weapon tracking her path. The assassin was lining up a shot.

  “AMA!” He dropped his pack and sprinted toward her.

  There was the sound of tearing canvas, as the projectile cut through the air. In slow motion, he saw her tumble, a spray of blood fountaining. He was screaming her name, running, turning his chack toward the hidden attacker.

  His lips peeled back in a war cry. “NO!”

  “BLOOD FOR WATER!”

  The words weren’t his. Or Ama’s. And they were shouted in Kenda.

  “Seg! Don’t shoot!” He turned to see Ama struggling to stand.

  Dazed, he slowed his run but did not lower his weapon. His finger rested on the trigger, ready to fire.

  From a distant cluster of rocks, where Seg had spotted the weapon, a figure emerged. Then another. The figures held their weapons out, barrels pointed to the ground.

  Seg arrived at Ama’s side to find her bloodied but smiling. She pointed to a wide, wet circle in the sand at her elbow. A pool of dark blood bubbled up from below.

  “Whatever that is, I just about ran right into it,” she said, between labored breaths.

  The clues came together slowly, as Seg stared past Ama at the bloody ground.

  “Lurkiya,” Seg said.

  “That had to be Swinson.” Ama pointed to the distant figures, grinning. “He’s the only Kenda who could make that shot.”

  Seg shook his head and sank to his knees as the adrenaline rushed out of his system. He lowered his chack, called out for the Kenda troopers to join them, and pointed a warning finger at Ama. “The next time you run off like that …”

  He was too winded to finish the threat. Ama laughed, and helped him to his feet.

  Alive. Two Kenda troopers had survived. At least two. More than Seg had hoped for only moments ago. Hopefully Trooper Swinson and his partner were not alone.

  The two kilometer walk to the camp passed quickly. Ama’s discomfort had been temporarily alleviated by the joy of the reunion with her kinsmen, Troopers Swinson and Handlo, who were happy to shoulder her weight. Seg kept his composure stern—he was still the leader of these men—but his relief lightened his steps as well.

  The code in the book was genuine, left by Fismar in the hopes that Seg would find it. The coordinates weren’t for Fismar’s camp, but for an open area where he could post a camouflaged lookout team. On the off chance someone else had discovered the book and cracked the code, Fismar was not foolish enough to lead them right to his men. The lookout troopers’ orders were twofold—first, verify Seg’s identity; second, before making contact, ensure no one was following him. Ama’s near run-in with the lurkiya had complicated the situation. It had also almost gotten someone killed, Seg had reminded her.

  “The Lieutenant’s sure going to be happy to see you,” Handlo said. His voice had the harsh tang of thirst to it, gritty as the desert air.

  “How many survived?” Seg asked.

  “All of us,” Swinson said. He nodded to the stone mounds, behind which Fismar’s camp waited. “Kype lost an arm, some others got chopped and cut on the way out, but everyone’s still breathing, and we’ve got auto-meds.”

  “Good shot, by the way,” Ama said.

  “Think I like this banger.” Swinson tapped his free hand on the butt of his slung rifle.

  As they passed through the boulder garden and into the camp, Seg saw others moving around. He silently counted and then, for the first time in a while, smiled. They truly were all alive. However he had managed to shelter them, Fismar had accomplished some sort of miracle.

  As the pair approached, whistles passed through the Kenda encampment. The familiar faces were more unkempt now, their uniforms disheveled and tattered, but they were here.

  Fismar emerged from a rocky cleft.

  “Theorist,” he said, “your Guard is present, numbered, and ready for work.”

  Fismar led Seg and Ama through the cluster of boulders where the troops were camped. From a distance, the camp had been invisible. Low tents were scattered in no pattern. Lean-tos, set to desert camouflage, were stretched between boulders, ensuring nearby cover was always at hand. Between the camouflage and the hot rocks that hid the men’s thermal signatures, even a low-flying rider would find it nearly impossible to spot anything unusual.

  “We made it through with full complement,” Fismar said. “A couple of wounded. Kype lost an arm but Elarn’s got him stabilized. We’ve had some minor bumps out here and one poison case the auto-med caught. But that thing’s done its job.” He pointed at a cylinder planted in the soil near where they stood.

  “A sonic repeller?” Seg asked, eyes wide.

  “Being part of a professional, well-financed organization has its perks, hey?”

  “Where on the World did you come by that? They cost as much as a utility rider.”

  “Knew a guy who didn’t need it anymore.” Fismar sat on a rock, under a scrap of huchack-fiber tarp that had been stretched and anchored overhead to form a makeshift Field Headquarters. He pulled up a water canister and offered it to the pair.

  Seg passed the canister to Ama. “Report, Lieutenant.” He glanced back at the repeller. “Everything.”

  Fismar nodded and leaned back. “You recall my brief meeting with Mikon Gelad.”

  “Jarin’s aide, yes,” Seg said.

  “Well, last night he came at us on the clear through our field comm gear, which works outside the regular frequency. It’s a good thing I was keeping an operator posted for practice, or we would’ve missed it. Anyway, Gelad vetted himself by way of reference to that meeting and how I skipped right past his laser grid.” Fismar grinned at the memory. “About twenty before the shield popped, he warned me that it was going to happen. I figured he must have had some GID intel. I put everybody on alert.”

  “So you were ready to move when the shield came down. But you only had four Storm cells.”

  “Yep. But Field Active Pegno had plenty. We were only three blocks from his bunch, and they’ve got a fully geared stock-up for their admin crew, along with a small security detachment. I knew they’d go for their Storm cells as soon as the shield went down, so we moved up and waited for them to start breaking them out.” Fismar didn’t look at Seg as he spoke, staring instead into the distance, in the direction of what remained of Old Town. “Once Pegno’s troops went for their gear, we went for Pegno’s troops. Total blindside.”

  “And the sonic repeller?” Seg asked.

  “Well, let’s just say Pegno won’t be needing it anymore, so I figured he’d want his fellow raiders to get good use out of it.” Fismar turned to Ama. “Looks like you could use an auto-med.”

  Fismar pointed to her arm and Seg saw the dark, wet stain leaking through the field jacket. In the excitement of the reunion, he had forgotten about her injuries.

  Fismar let out three shrill whistles. A second later, Viren appeared and escorted Ama off to see Elarn.

  “You learned Kenda code?” Seg asked Fismar.

  “These boys have been using those whistles for generations. Simple, effective, and no one else but us knows what they mean. Only a fool ignores a useful tool.” Fismar pulled out a digifilm. “So let’s talk about our effectives and our stocks.”

  “Good to have you back, little Captain. How do you like our new home?” Viren swept an arm across the camp, as he half-carried Ama down a slight embankment. “No water, no food, and every living thing wants to kill you. Enchanting!”

  “You wanted to explore outside the warehouse,” Ama said.

  “I
did indeed. Sadly, we’ve yet to locate either a drinking establishment or women possessed of dubious morals and the sort of exceedingly low standards a bunch like us need, but otherwise it’s been a worthy venture.” Viren nodded to her bare neck. “You’re looking less encumbered.”

  Ama’s eyes darted downward. The collar was gone but, oddly, she still felt its weight.

  “I guess we all had an interesting evening,” she said. A series of whistles passed between Ama and the men, traditional greetings to one returning to port after a long voyage. “I still can’t believe you made it out.”

  The men, who had been hovering close to Fismar’s field headquarters, gathered around Ama, visibly buoyed by a familiar face.

  “We’re somewhat shocked ourselves,” Viren said. “Our ever-mysterious lieutenant received word from some equally mysterious source that we were in imminent danger from the Storm, so he stood us from sound sleep to be ready. Those few of us who were actually on a sleep cycle, that is.”

  “Sleep? What’s that?” Wyan grumbled.

  “As you can guess, Squad Leader Wyan was among those awake at the hour of the emergency,” Viren said. “Thankfully, the lieutenant provided him with a whole host of enemy combatants on whom to vent his displeasure.”

  “He displeasured about a dozen of Pegno’s people,” Prow said, and the gathered crowd shared a laugh.

  “Our first battle on the new world!” Viren gestured grandly with his free hand. “Shooting, screaming, knife work, ah, makes a man homesick for those nights in the Port House. We were desperately outnumbered, only the—”

  “Swinson said Kype lost an arm?” Ama stopped Viren before he got too carried away with his tale.

  Tirnich jogged to Ama’s side. “Sagio’s got him resting.”

  “Sagio?” Ama turned to Viren. The word was Kenda, reserved for healers of great wisdom, and spoken with highest reverence.

  “Elarn earned the title,” Viren said, all mockery gone. The men nodded in agreement. “Kype went after one of Pegno’s men, with a blade, and took a shot just above the elbow. Elarn got Kype out of there by himself. We thought we’d lost both of them, but they got to us—Elarn half-dragging that cantankerous Westie—just as we hit the city perimeter and started setting up the Storm cells. Nasty poison in those spines, as Lieutenant Korth likes to remind us, and Kype was in a bad way.”

  “Never heard screaming like that, even at the temple,” Prow said.

  “Elarn had to remove the arm. He sat through the night with Kype and fixed him up enough so that when the Storm cleared we could start our march to this lovely patch of nothingness,” Viren said.

  “Another miracle,” Ama said.

  “Praise Nen,” Tirnich said.

  The group stopped outside a tent and Viren pulled open a flap for Ama to enter.

  The medical tent was bigger than the rest, tall enough to stand in and wide enough to fit three or four people comfortably. Kype was on his back; his eyes were open but his second eyelids were halfway up, indicating the extent of his injury. What little remained of his left arm was bandaged, and an auto-med was wrapped around the right. Elarn raised his face as if to scold whoever was intruding but, seeing it was Ama, relented.

  “One finger wasn’t enough, brother?” Ama crouched next to Kype. “Just like a Kenda man, always showing off.”

  Kype struggled to raise his head and speak.

  “No,” Elarn said with a stern look to Kype. He raised a finger at Ama, “And you stay quiet around my patient. You—”

  He raised a hand to her forehead and frowned.

  “Perasul bite,” Ama said. “Among other things.” She tried to peel off the field jacket but the movement sent hot needles of pain up and down her arm. Elarn swooped in with a knife and sliced off the sleeve at the shoulder. A shadow rolled over his face at the sight of the wound.

  “For the love of …” He muttered and cursed as he rounded up an auto-med and hooked it onto her good arm.

  “Feet need some help, too,” she said, almost slurring the words.

  She let out a long breath as the area numbed, and didn’t resist when Elarn directed her to lie down while he treated and sealed her injuries.

  When his work was complete, Elarn pointed to the auto-med. “You leave this on until I say otherwise.”

  “Thanks, Sagio,” Ama said.

  “Karg, not you too,” Elarn said sourly at the name. He coughed.

  As she slipped back into her boots, she glanced over at Kype, who was sleeping. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’ll be fine. Once we get back to civilization we can get him a new arm, too.”

  Ama stopped the first reply that rose to her lips. “Of course, I’ve seen those arms. Primitives like us would call them magic.”

  “Most People don’t understand how they work, either,” Elarn said. “The prosthetic will do all the work he’ll need it to do and he’ll be back on the line before they even know he was gone.”

  “Of course.” Ama rose before her voice could betray her. Once outside the tent, she gathered Viren and Prow, and walked them a short distance away from the other men.

  “Do the men think we’re going back?” she asked.

  As they departed from the safer area of the camp, Prow and Viren automatically pivoted away from each other to watch the surrounding landscape.

  “Aren’t we?” Prow asked.

  Ama swallowed past the knot in her throat. “Has Lieutenant Korth told you about the CWA?”

  “Wellies.” Fismar shook his head. “I rated that as a bit more likely than natural shield failure. So if the Guild’s looking to hire for retaliation, we’re in a good position.”

  “The Guild won’t directly retaliate,” Seg said. “Maybe when Cathind was invaded, but that was eight hundred years ago. They don’t dirty themselves anymore.”

  “So, all the gear is gone, we don’t have a rider, you’re in debt so far you’ll never see clear—”

  “We may still be able to get the rider. I need a secure tie-in to the Cathind comm network. Can you do that?”

  “I’m no tech, but I’ve learned a thing or two. I’ll see what I can do with the comm rig we have here.”

  “The rider’s not ready yet,” Ama said, re-entering the Field Headquarters.

  Seg and Fismar both paused to assess her condition. Satisfied at the sealed wound, Seg continued. “How much longer did Shan need?”

  “A few days. Maybe a few more without an assistant.” She looked from Fismar to Seg and back. “Are we still going after the Keep?”

  Fismar barked out a laugh. “Not with what we have. The gas warheads got left at the warehouse and are trashed by now. We saved one grabber, but we’d have to stuff the damn thing right inside the belly of that place for it to work. Take Julewa? With these odds? Not kargin’ likely.”

  Seg grimaced. “It’s still an option.”

  Fismar stood. “With respect, without another edge it’s a trap that’ll get us all killed.”

  “If we don’t go after the Keep, where else is there for us? We can’t go back to the city and …” Ama’s gaze drifted outside, to the barren wastes.

  “People survive out here,” Seg said. “Renegades, escaped caj. But the Keep is still an option until I say otherwise.”

  “It’s your team,” Fismar said. “But I’d strongly recommend we start planning our secondaries.”

  “You’ve considered the water and topography situation here?” Seg said.

  “I have indeed,” Fismar said. “Three good options, one that’s a solid survivor but last recon showed to be pretty heavily occupied. Might mark that as a long-term target after we secure a place to hold onto.” He handed a digifilm to Seg.

  “I don’t understand.” Ama moved closer to study the film.

  �
��Everything out here is about water and defensible terrain. If we’re going to live out here, we need to find an area that combines those two. And because every such area is occupied, we’re going to have to take it from whoever is living there,” Seg said.

  A vertical line creased Ama’s brow. “Take theirs, make it ours.”

  “Survive,” Seg said. “Is Julewa any different?”

  “I’ll leave the philosophy to you two and get on that comm. With your permission, Theorist,” Fismar said.

  Seg nodded as he studied the map more closely.

  “There’s no other way?” Ama said, quietly, when Fismar had departed. “I understand taking the Keep—those people were criminals and traitors—but the others out here? You said some are escaped caj, just trying to survive.”

  “We need water or we die. We can recycle and condense here, but it won’t begin to touch our long-term needs. Or we can go back and you, I, and all the Kenda will be grafted and sold.” He waved a hand toward the direction of Fismar’s departure. “He and Elarn aren’t tied to the debt, so they could go free. There’s no such option for the rest of us.”

  “Blood for water.” She stared at her hands for a long moment, then stepped to the exit. “I’m going to see what I can do to help around here. If you need me, I’ll be with my people.”

  Seg checked the orientation on the film and pointed himself slightly to the southeast, toward Julewa, then looked up.

  It was still an option.

  Shan’s head moved from the rider, to her comm, to the hangar exit, then back to the comm. The message icon remained blue, just as it had been all day and the day before. She called up Eraranat’s icon, raised her thumb, then blanked the screen.

  “Kargin’ hopeless.” She stuffed the comm back in her pocket.

  Like everyone else, she had watched the newsfeeds of the riots. Unlike everyone else, she was not angry at Eraranat for inciting civil unrest, but for stranding her. Again. No word. Nothing. Old Town was gone and Fis’s comm was dead, which meant he probably was too. So here she was, alone. No job, no scrip, and no hope of either in the foreseeable future. Why had she ever walked into this mess in the first place?